


Lighthouses

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Q has a reason for isolating himself in a lighthouse. But is it a good reason? Bond intends to find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a teeny sexy fluff piece. My characters absconded with the plot and this is the result.

" Lighthouses are endlessly suggestive signifiers of both human isolation and our ultimate connectedness to each other." 

Virginia Woolf 

 

Chapter One

The small boat hit the waves with nausea inducing bumps and sideways jinks as salt spray drenched the cockpit. The man at the wheel braced confidently, riding the motions with practiced ease. Q clung to the rail and peered through his glasses, unable to see much through the drops spattering the lenses. Sunlight still shone brilliantly, reflecting off the crests of the waves and burnishing the old stone of the light keeper's cottage to antique gold. The lighthouse loomed high above, it's rough stonework looking it's reported age of 180 years. Few things in life were exactly as they seemed. The lighthouse was actually a hardened MI6 facility. The light still maintained it's original function, automated these days, but the internal structure had been completely replaced with steel and concrete that dug its feet into the island's stone. It had it's own satellite up and down link and two generators separate from the one for maintaining the light. It had been used in various exercises but, most often, as a safe house. Q now planned to use it as a refuge. 

The landing was protected by a tiny cove and, as soon as the small boat rounded the headland, the winds dropped off and the waves settled. Q took a moment to dry his glasses, a gesture that had been pointless for the duration of the voyage from the mainland. Gardiner, whose official title was lighthouse keeper but who was actually an MI6 employee, eased up to the weathered dock and jumped over to secure the lines. Q accepted a hand over when that was done, then Gardiner jumped back aboard to hand out the suitcase and other supplies Q had brought along. Together they hauled the goods to the cottage.

“You sure you''ll be all right here, sir? The weather is going to cut you off completely, like as not.” He gestured with one shoulder to the northwest where a heavy bank of clouds crowded out the horizon, a solid wall of grey. Even as Q watched, a flash of lightning illuminated the front. “The channel becomes impassable in high winds and water.”

Depositing the cases and some crates of perishables on the small front porch, Q straightened and reached a hand out, shaking Gardiner's. “I'll be fine, Gardiner. The place is completely weatherproof and I can call on the sat phone if I need to.”

Gardiner took a step down to the path and turned. “Just be careful. In a storm like that, even if you call, nothing can cross that channel. Even the Coast Guard won't chance it. I certainly wouldn't in my little launch. And trying for a helicopter landing would be suicide.” He walked a step or two further. “I restocked the first aid supplies in that second crate. Make sure you keep it handy.” With that he waved and jogged back toward the cove and the dock. Q watched for a moment and then began moving the supplies inside. He was getting the last case when fat raindrops began pelting the small yard. The sunset was being swallowed by roiling thunderheads. He went back inside, locking the heavy door and setting the alarms.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The cottage interior belied the rustic antique appearance. The lights were recessed and warm. The floors were heated in addition to a gas fire. The kitchen was quite modern. Q opened his laptops, he had brought three, and powered them on, logging on to the secure MI6 intra net. A quick glance showed nothing requiring his attention and he rechecked the new protocols he had instituted before he left London. None of the lines in his little spiderweb had quivered. Satisfied for the moment, he left his programs running and went to stow the remainder of the supplies and set out a quick tea. He glanced at the window, thick and slightly distorting since it was bullet resistant, as thunder began to roll like cannon fire overhead. He took his mug to the window, looking out at the rain sheeting down and shifting to blow sideways, and the clouds illuminated by frequent lightning and by the slower oscillation of the big lamp overhead in the tower. He sipped his tea thoughtfully and wondered if this was far enough away to be safe. 

The phone ringing startled him, an artificial sound in the midst of the natural cacophony of the tempest outside. Even the structure of the cottage vibrated a bit with the intensity of the wind. He keyed the answer and acknowledged the caller before they could say anything. “Hello Moneypenny. How are you this evening?”

“I'm quite fine, darling. I was more concerned about you, although R told me you checked in on schedule. How was the trip?” The call echoed a bit. She had it on speaker as she often did after hours.

“Uneventful, Honestly, Eve, just consider it a holiday. I haven't had one in five years.” Q turned back to the center of the room as the lightning glare threatened to blind him, the thunder following immediately. 

“It's a retreat, Q. And the weather sounds awful. Why in the world did you pick the back of beyond when they're predicting the worst storm in fifty years?” 

“Call it strategic withdrawal, Moneypenny. I need the space and perspective.” He blinked as the wind gusted sharply again, howling as it circled the tower.

“You are a terrible liar. You're running and you know it. I just can't figure out why you'd run from what you obviously want.” She sounded mildly exasperated.

Q knew she was right. He was running He tried to make it sound better than it was. “With Bond off the active roster, he's been around the branch all the time. He knows it's getting under my skin. He asked me to go out for dinner. Specifically told me to dress up.”

Eve chuckled. “Of course it gets to you. Which is why he does it. Do you really not recognize flirting.?”

Q stared disconsolately at his empty mug and the equally depleted teapot. “I know what flirting is, Moneypenny. I just don't know why. I mean why me. 

“Because you're cute and smart and sarcastically immune to his variety of bullshit. Seriously, I know you've been lusting after him forever. Why not just give it a go?” Moneypenny sounded genuinely puzzled. 

“It wouldn't work. He thinks he wants me. I'd never measure up. I mean, he's...Bond.” Q literally threw his hands up, fortunately having put his mug down earlier. “I'm terrible at all that.” He finished off in an almost whisper.

“Terrible at what, Q?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

Wishing he had made the tea a good belt of whiskey, Q gave a snort. “Terrible at sex, Eve. You know that thing a huge percentage of the populace does on instinct. Well, not me. I am awful at it. Every person I have ever been with has passed on a second go round. I am told I kiss badly, move awkwardly and cling uncomfortably. I can see it now. My big chance. A date with 007. Dinner, good wine, a walk home and an invite inside. And then he makes a move and it all collapses. I have no talent in intimate situations and he'd see it immediately. Face it Eve, he's used to people who match his skill set. He expects a partner who can meet him on his own terms. I'd be lucky if he didn't just die laughing. And facing him at work after would be torture. This is best. I'm out of reach. He'll amuse himself elsewhere until he's back on the duty roster. Then he'll be distracted by whatever the mission is and forget all about this.”

“You're assuming a lot, darling. You assume he's just taken a passing interest. I think it's a bit more than that. Plus, you're forgetting the 00 factor.”

“In what way?” Q thought he had been quite thorough actually.

“He's a predator. His instinct is, when something runs, chase. And you refused a date and then left town. He's going to be driven to find answers.”

“I didn't refuse,” Q admitted miserably. “I said I'd go and then panicked.”

Eve was silent for a long moment and then sighed. “Q, darling idiot, you are so screwed. He is going to find you.” 

Q jumped at the loudest peal of thunder yet. “I doubt that. With what Gardiner was saying, I doubt even the devil himself could get to me here. It's why I picked it. Have a nice evening, Eve. I'm going to work a bit and try to sleep if this storm lets me. Thanks for caring.” He disconnected and went to the kitchen to reheat the kettle, reflecting that the isolation also protected him from himself if he were tempted to return.

Eve punched the call end on her phone and leaned back in her chair, tapping her nail file idly against her chair arm. She sighed and picked up her purse and coat and headed for the security desk to badge out. She was long gone by the time a shadowy figure stepped out of the stairwell entrance opposite her office door.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Insomnia had always plagued Q. His mind was restless and when he did sleep, if awakened, he tended to find himself pursuing some project rather than returning to sleep. Oddly, in the midst of the storm outside, he actually slept for several hours. When he opened his eyes, he took a moment to recollect where he was. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table and sat up. The storm was still raging. Forecasts had reported it was moving quite slowly and might batter the coast for several days. The thunder and lightning seemed to have subsided a bit but the wind sounded more intense. He luxuriated in the shower, equipped with a very efficient tankless water heater and dressed in comfortable sweats, having no one to impress and loving the feel of the fleece on his skin. He studied his computers while he ate toast and jam and drank his first tea. He noted the small alarm icon at the bottom right of his screen and pulled up his early warning system. The alert was harmless enough. It indicated that 007 had requested a travel itinerary to France for the weekend. Q sighed. He had been right after all. Bond was only casually interested and 'out of sight, out of mind' seemed to apply. It should have been reassuring but he felt vaguely disappointed. He chided himself. What kind of idiocy was he contemplating? He wasn't some romance novel heroine with a dashing suitor pursuing. He checked the rest of his email and chatted with R briefly and then decided to explore a bit. 

He wasn't inclined to go out of course. The storm was raging and he wasn't fool enough to risk it. But the tower was a curiosity and offered the prospect of a view of the area. He had never been to a lighthouse. The tower was separated from the cottage by a short enclosed hallway. He tugged on a pair of gloves and a jacket against the chill and crossed to the tower entrance. The interior stairway spiraled up to the beacon housing, the steel framing new and firm. Still, the whole structure hummed with the force of the wind. He grasped the handrail and began to climb. According to the specs on the location, the tower was 150 feet tall. It took him a little while but he eventually poked his head up through the opening to the room that housed the beacon. It was set on a pillar that contained the power cables and the oscillating mechanism. The rehabilitation had not affected the basics here. The old school Fresnel lens could not be improved upon so they had just converted it over to the new power system, improved the bearings a bit and left it as is otherwise. Q moved to the outer perimeter of the room and put his back to the lamp, staring out at the chaos nature had descended into. It was morning but the view was barely twilit. Waves that looked enormous to him crashed and collided with each other and with the rocky seaward side of the island. He walked to the coastal facing side. Occasional glimmers of light there showed the location of the village where Gardiner lived. The isolation was a palpable feeling, as if an actual barrier had been put up between this place and the rest of the everyday world. He remained for a long while, fascinated by the spectacle of the storm. He returned to the cottage as the temperature began to drop and the storm intensified once again. 

He poked desultorily at his programs for a bit, disinclined to start anything new. The meteorological experts were making noises about an historic confluence of three storm systems creating a monstrous event that covered a good percentage of the North Atlantic and the British Isles. What was it about weather science that made people so dramatic? Certainly the storm was impressive in it's energy but the news reports made it sound like some version of the apocalypse. He wouldn't really mind if it lasted another day or so. He was secure here. 

Assured his division was operating as he wished and that R had no questions that needed his immediate input, Q finished up his email correspondence and picked up a tablet and settled in front of the fire. He pulled up his library and settled in to read, a luxury on most of his workdays. He often read fantasy for pleasure and was partial to Charles de Lint. He cued up the page and kicked off his trainers, pulling his feet up to the side. He lost himself in the story, spending several hours in a world outside of his own. He frowned as an unfamiliar sound impinged on his focus. There was a horrific noise from overhead. A siren of some sort was sounding repetitive blasts. He thought of going up to the tower himself but knew he had a quicker way to find out what was going on. The tower had several cameras he could view. Sure enough, a large ship was visible off the seaward side, It appeared to be a naval vessel and had apparently activated the proximity alarm from the lighthouse. Despite the heavy impact of the waves and wind, the vessel moved past with determination, heading north along the coast. The peals of the alarm quieted after a bit and the last of the ship's lights disappeared from view. Q, his attention no longer on his reading, began to prepare something to eat. He played chess with R while he ate. R was a good player and had occasional flashes of brilliance. Tonight Q was off his form and was soundly beaten twice before he ruefully acknowledged that she was the better player tonight. There was no further change in his web, no new alerts, so he wandered off to bed. 

He wondered briefly what had possessed the department to invest in a huge king sized bed for the cottage. There was a second bedroom but it had only a set of utilitarian bunks. The mattress was ridiculously comfortable. Perhaps the higher ups anticipated that some guest might be used to a more luxurious standard of sleeping arrangements? In any case, Q was appreciating the accommodations. He removed his glasses, stripped down to his pants, rebelled at the idea of pyjamas and slid between the sheets. The space under the duvet warmed quickly. He wondered how the old light house keepers had managed. They had been much more isolated than he was. Satellite and internet meant he was never completely cut off. Although he did rather think Gardiner had been correct. There was no way anyone could get here or back to the mainland before this storm ended.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 

There should not be someone standing over his bed. The figure was back lit by occasional lightning and the intermittent sweep of the great lamp. Q made an abortive grab for the weapon he had tucked against the headboard and found his wrist firmly held in a grip that was secure but not painful. A depressingly familiar voice advised, “It's just me. No need to get hostile.”

Q gave a sigh. “Bond, you know it is a serious pity that the useful active period for smart blood is only 120 days. Or maybe you need a tracking tag like they use for wildlife.”

“Well I have been called wild, Q. But at the moment I think I might need a little help. I seem to have miscalculated the difficulty of getting here.” 

Alarmed by the tone of voice, Q sat up and tapped the light on and grabbed his glasses. He used the grip on his right wrist to tug Bond down to sit on the mattress. The man was dressed in a bright red dry suit, the hood pulled back. The suit was shredded in multiple places, showing abraded skin underneath and incipient bruising. A cut trickled blood down the man's right cheek and he was holding his left arm at an awkward angle that suggested serious damage.

Q had questions. Lots of questions. But that was going to wait. Right now he had a bloodied and injured man to deal with. He squirmed out of the bed and tried to ignore the very obvious once over crystal blue eyes gave him. Damn it all, why hadn't he worn pyjamas? Ignoring his state of undress, he pointed at the pillows. “Lie down before you fall over and I'll get the first aid kit.” To his shock, Bond settled back almost meekly, moving very slowly indeed. Q padded out to the kitchen and fetched the heavy metal case from the corner. He dropped a kitchen roll in a clean bowl and threw a bottle of water on top. He moved it all back to the bedroom. Bond immediately made an effort to sit up again, forestalled by Q raising a hand and one skeptical eyebrow. He subsided and watched as Q opened the kit and raised the folding trays inside, producing a set of flat edged shears with bright blue plastic handles. “First step is to get the suit off and since it's already this damaged, the obvious approach is cutting. Hold still.” Q started with the cuff edge at the right ankle and worked up the outside of the leg, removing a sheathed throwing knife in the process. He decided it was easier to cut the thermal undergarments at the same time. They were as damaged as the dry suit. He had to stop to unfasten the weight belt and it's heavy knife, practically a machete, then proceeded up to the shoulder, turning to get down to the wrist. He did the same on the left side to the waist. He unfastened the center zip and cut from there across the suit and over the shoulder and arm. When the tough material finally pulled away he put the shears down and shook his head. 

Bond was watching his face as he had been the entire time. “You know it's dislocated right? You're going to have to put it back.” He sounded oddly apologetic. 

Q knew it. He knew the maneuver required. He often cursed the necessity of his department requiring everyone to take an intensive first aid class yearly but the information was going to be put to good use now. He swallowed down the nausea and stood up, standing next to the bed. This was a necessity. The dislocation was painful enough but would become harder to reduce if he waited and it would increase the potential for nerve injury. He gripped Bond's left wrist and elbow and raised them vertically pulling steadily and firmly even as the man grimaced and let out a harsh gasp. Then he twisted the entire arm outward and felt the stomach churning thunk as the humerus slipped back to it's proper place. He let the arm fold back to a more natural position and leaned closer. Bond had passed out. The combination of exhaustion and pain had caught up with him. Q reflected it was a bit better for them both. He used the opportunity to remove the entire front half of the diving suit. He left a scrap of the thermal suit covering Bond's groin. It was only the decent thing to do. 'Avoiding temptation' said the naughty voice in the back of his head. 'You should at least get more than a paltry glimpse.' Damn this mess. He wasn't some low life peeper. 

Q poured the bottled water in the bowl and started at the top. The facial injury bled a fair bit and was already showing the beginnings of a very colorful bruise. Q cleaned it carefully and used a bit of sterile glue on it. He found multiple scrapes and cuts as he moved down the front of the still form. He cleaned and treated as he went, applying butterfly bandages and some sutures on the deeper lacerations. One finger on the left hand looked as if it might have a fracture. He affixed a flexible splint to it and taped it to the next finger for good measure. He stood up and retrieved two large bath towels from the cupboard. He flattened one out next to Bond and walked to the far side of the bed. He raised Bond's left knee and grabbed it, pulling toward himself, his other hand catching at the remains of the back of the suit. “Come on, 007. Shift that arse,” he muttered as he attempted to roll the dead weight toward him onto the towel. 

“Good to know you're interested in my arse, Q,” came the slightly slurred reply. Q could feel himself flush but kept on as he had started, finally getting Bond almost entirely on his front with the second towel rolled up under his chest and left shoulder. 

Q gingerly peeled away what was left of the dry suit. The front had been bad, the back was worse. The rear of the left shoulder was already livid with bruising that extended down the ribs. He pressed an ear there but heard what seemed easy movement of air. Hopefully nothing was fractured. Again he moved from the top down, more cleaning and suturing, the water in the bowl turning pink. The last wound he tackled was one in the right thigh, deep and nasty, looking almost as if a knife had sliced the flesh. He rinsed it out with sterile water from the kit and then jabbed the area with a bit of local. He knew his stitches were not up to medical standards of neatness but he persevered until the wound was closed. He sat back and sighed, stripped off the last of the gloves, having gone through multiple pairs, and hunted once more in the kit. He reviewed Bond's files in his head. No antibiotic allergies. The drug tray had a broad spectrum antibiotic in a slow release formulation. He unpackaged the prefilled syringe and studied the diagram on the enclosed paperwork. He was never going to live any of this down anyway. Sighing, he laid his hand on Bond's left buttock, finding the injection landmark. He wiped the spot with alcohol then aimed the syringe. To his shock it went in smoothly and almost exactly where he had intended. He pressed the plunger, watching as the milky fluid level dropped. He counted to three and withdrew the needle, pressing down on the spot with the alcohol wipe. Bond muttered something unintelligible but didn't do more than shift his head a bit. 

Q picked up the debris and dumped everything in a red bag included with the medical kit. He wasn't about to move Bond again so he hunted in the cupboard and hauled out several blankets and a fresh duvet. He layered those over the sleeping man and retreated to the kitchen. He hunted in the cupboard, grateful he had been smart enough to bring a good bottle of whiskey. He poured two fingers, took a healthy swallow and then sat down by the fire. He sipped from the glass occasionally as his hands gradually stopped shaking. Bond had fucking followed him to the arse end of creation and had injured himself badly doing it. This was not what he had intended at all. He had no idea what rules Bond had broken to get here but he rather thought the Royal Navy would need some explanation as well. He should have just done as Eve suggested and gone on the bloody date. Personal humiliation was preferable to this. It was actually worse, he realized. Bond cared enough to go to these lengths. That was surprise enough. But his trust in Q was extraordinary. He came here not knowing how he would be received. But it went much further. He was a bloody 00 who was supposed to be suspicious of everyone. He had simply relaxed into Q's care without question and had fallen asleep in front of him. Q jumped up as a harsh crack sounded outside. He ran to the door and peeped out through the camera. He stared in horror as the wind, made more solid by the driving rain and sleet, tore the remainder of the fence around the cottage away, the white painted wood whirling off into the dark. He shook his head and padded to the bedroom. Bond had not stirred, only his tousled grey blonde hair peeping out the top of the duvet. He looked at the time. Still early. Well, he wasn't likely to fall back asleep now. He pulled on his sweats and closed the door gently.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It was reassuring to see there were no urgent matters in Q branch. Q certainly wasn't feeling up to handling any crises. He checked the systems for the various armed services and found nothing untoward regarding missing equipment or personnel. That was reassuring. He thought about calling Eve but was not prepared to deal with the gleeful 'I told you so' she would undoubtedly crow at him. He worked for a few hours and then decided it might be time to deal with Bond. He heated up the small oven and opened up a tray of packaged cinnamon rolls and set them to warm. He made coffee along with his usual tea and stiffened his spine for dealing with the problem in his bed.

Returning to the bedroom, he didn't turn on the lights, letting the illumination from the living area guide him. He called out quietly, “Bond, 007, time to wake up,” repeating it several times until the duvet was pulled down a trifle and confused blue eyes squinted at him. “Q?”

“Don't try to get up yet. How is your shoulder feeling?” Q pulled the blankets back a bit and was relieved to see the arm still supported as he had left it with no apparent distortion. 

Bond flexed a bit, winced and finally spoke. “You had to set it back. I remember now. It actually feels OK.” He rolled to his back and sat up, covers falling around his waist. Q grabbed a few pillows and stuffed them behind his back. 

“Wait there. I'll dig up some clothes for you.” Q headed for the store room. He knew the department kept a stock of simple clothing in various sizes. He found some sweats he was sure would fit, a package of plain briefs and a pair of step in trainers with elastic sides, rather like house slippers. He returned to the bedroom, carrying the clothes. To his utter shock, Bond was still where he had left him, sitting against the pillows, eyes closed and head slightly leaned back. He looked up when Q reentered the room, “I found these. Do you need help?” 

Bond shifted and moved his left arm, flexing each joint with deliberation. “Everything works. I think I'll manage.”

Q turned with some relief and headed back to the lounge. “Meet me outside when you're done. I have breakfast on.” The lounge was permeated with the aroma of cinnamon and the timer chimed as he got to the kitchen. He removed the tray, turned off the oven, and spread the packaged glaze over the pastries. The coffee was ready so he settled back to wait with his own cup of tea. Bond took some time to make it to the lounge and he was moving with obvious stiffness when he did. He made an appreciative noise over the coffee and poured himself a cup, splashing in cream and downing half of it in one go before refilling the cup. He accepted a plated cinnamon roll and settled opposite Q. 

Q eyed him, considering what tack to take. He finally settled on something practical. “So, who do I have to bribe, coerce or hack to hide whatever you did to get here?”

Bond finished a bite of the cinnamon roll and shook his head. “No need. I called in a favor from a friend. Eddie Cosgrove is the commander of a mine handler, HMS Penzance. He picked me up before his sweep up the coast. I borrowed a compact new SDV he's trialing. He planned to just write it off as a loss to the storm if it got damaged. I don't think you need to hide any bodies.”

Q gestured at Bond's shoulder and asked, “How did all that happen?”

Bond got up to pour more coffee and grabbed a second pastry as he sat down again. “Storm was worse than I thought. And the shallows here are nasty. The vehicle was fine most of the way in where I could stay a little deeper. Once the bottom shelved up, the prop kept hitting air instead of water and got impossible to handle. I got thrown out of the seat at one point and grabbed a boulder and kept a grip on the SDV. It jerked me around and the shoulder popped out. I think one of the prop blades made that cut in my leg you stitched up for me. I lost the vehicle and got slammed against more of the rocks. It's a good thing the beach slopes up out of the surf so quickly. It's hard to swim when you can't use one arm. I spent some time on the beach, coughing up a fair bit of the Atlantic. Then I managed to get up to the lighthouse. I'm rather surprised that I didn't set off proximity alarms.”

Q cocked his head to one side. “You know that is a point. I rather suspect the system is overloaded by the sheer intensity of the storm, the volume of water and debris blowing around. I may have to work out a way to prevent that happening.” He pushed that puzzle aside. “Let's stick to the topic. I came out here specifically for the privacy. I am entitled to take leave after all. You found out where I was, probably broke half a dozen security protocols to do it and lost a piece of equipment belonging to Her Majesty's Navy. Does that sum it up?”

Bond had the good grace to look a bit contrite. “Well, I really didn't to have break any security protocol. I overheard your chat with Eve. I took a guess that you'd be using an MI6 property and I did have clues. I remember Gardiner. Nice sort. I was here with a VIP six years ago. All I had to do was find transportation.”

Q recalled every word of that conversation with Moneypenny. “You heard all of that?” He could feel his face heating and tried desperately to regain his composure.

Bond nodded. “I heard it but I confess I don't get it.”

“What's not to understand? I am a failure at a basic activity for the majority of humans. It's bad enough being ridiculous to some blind date that I'll never have to see again. I don't need this complicating my work life. Of course, the concept may be alien to you. I know you haven't limited your seductions to missions. The rumor mill has it that you've bedded half the female support staff and a good third of the men as well.”

Bond smiled. “One shouldn't believe everything one hears.”

Q frowned. “You mean it's not true?”

Bond gave a pained sigh. “Seriously, when did you think I'd have the time? I like interesting people. I tend to flirt. It's a long standing habit. People see that and make assumptions. To put this on record, I have had an intimate interaction with exactly one former staff member who was strictly interested in a one night stand. I gather curiosity was the driving factor.” 

Now Q was truly confused. “Then why me? Why break the pattern? I am hardly your type.”

”And how would you know my type? After all, the people you see me seduce on missions are marks. They are a means to an end and have nothing to do with what I prefer. Honestly, sometimes I would much rather not. My type, if I have one, is more about having a quick wit and an ability to interact outside of a bed. So the question about why I find you interesting is easy to answer. You're one of the brightest people I have ever met and you're gorgeous. Then there is the added bonus that you already know what I do for a living. And I am sure you are interested in me as well or I wouldn't have come out here, because despite what certain people may have told you, I don't pursue unwilling partners simply because I enjoy a chase.” Bond sounded genuinely offended as he sat back and sipped at his coffee. 

Q considered for a moment. This was not what he had expected at all. This was a side of Bond he had never seen and the apparent honesty of it had the unexpected side effect of making the man even more attractive. Maybe, it was possible for him to trust this just a bit. He sipped a bit more of his cooling tea to wet his throat. “So what do we do about it?” He was proud of himself that he looked steadily at Bond while he spoke.

Bond gave an unexpectedly soft smile. “I think that's up to you. I took a risk coming here, laid out my cards. Now you have to decide if you want to take a risk.” He shifted in the chair and winced. “Just don't expect any athletics. I'm really not at my best right now.”

Q pondered and finally ventured a suggestion. “Would a bit of a cuddle on the sofa be alright? I mean, I've never done that before. No one was much interested...”

Bond looked at him sharply. “Forgive me but it sounds as if you've run into some miserable wankers if all they wanted was to fuck and run.” He stood with a grimace and held out a hand. “Come on then. A cuddle it is.” Q exhaled sharply and took the offered hand, walking to the sofa and letting Bond settle himself first. He rested his left elbow on the sofa arm and extended his right arm along the back cushion. Q awkwardly seated himself, and edged into Bond's right side. He wriggled a bit to get himself tucked in closer and tried his hardest to relax and enjoy it. The gas fire crackled and warmed them and Bond felt even warmer along his side. That was pleasant. He let himself slide down a bit and felt a weight descend across his shoulders and a broad hand settled against his chest. He gulped and tensed again. Bond's voice was a quiet rumble barely heard over the storm noise that had been the background to his last several days. “Is that all right?”

Q took a moment to consider how he was feeling. “It's fine,” he finally said, as he appreciated the closeness and felt his muscles relax. It really was fine, warm and secure and safe. Odd that Bond, of all people, should feel safe to him. The blunt fingers petted gently and he felt what had to be a kiss against the top of his head. “Nap a bit. Neither of us slept well.” Internally Q scoffed at the idea. Sleeping was a problem for him at any time. He would surely never sleep like this. Bond's breathing evened out and Q counted respirations without even being aware. His eyes closed without volition.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Q woke to a very blurry world. He was warm and comfortable and half blind. He remembered a bit when Bond's fingers dangled his glasses directly in front of him and a soft chuckle vibrated the chest under his head. “I rescued them, I didn't think you'd appreciate them being bent.” Q turned his head and looked up as he placed the frames on his face. To Q's shock Bond leaned down and kissed him on the tip of his nose, a soft brief contact but it made Q's eyes cross as he tried to follow it.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, squinting ferociously.

Bond had the audacity to laugh. “Because you're adorable when you just wake up.” Q gaped at that. This all made no sense. “Q? You had best close your mouth. Because I intend to kiss you properly, if you have no objection, that is.” Q snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. ” Now, was that 'No, don't do that,' or 'No, I don't object'? Best be clear.”

Q felt strangled by a sudden need. “No objection,” was all he managed to get out before Bond tightened the arm still around his shoulders and brought his mouth down on Q's. Bond's lips were chapped from the salt water, dragging lightly against Q's own. The sensation was shivery and utterly delightful. Q closed his eyes and luxuriated in the gentle pressure and tried to commit every second to memory, convinced this would all cease any moment. It didn't. Bond pulled away only to remove Q's glasses again, placing them carefully on the table returning to exploring with his lips, traveling over Q's face, brushing his eyelids, diverting to tickle an ear with warm gusting breaths and returning to his mouth. Q felt the tip of a tongue lightly trace his lips and inwardly resolved not to be devastated when things went to hell in the next few seconds. This was where it usually did. There would be an intrusion of tongue, sometimes feeling like it was halfway down his throat. He would pull away and that would be the end of kisses and often the end of the encounter. Worse were the idiots who assumed it just meant he had had enough foreplay and wanted to get right to business. Q opened with a feeling of resignation only to feel the barest flicker of tongue tip and a return to the previous gentle touches. This happened a few more times, Bond seeming utterly contented to spend his time like this. The fourth time it happened, Q decided that maybe he might try it as well. The light forays were pleasant and he had seen and read enough to know it was supposed to be wonderful, just not for him, at least so far. The next time Bond ventured his tongue forward, Q followed with his own, startled when Bond sucked at it, drawing him in further. He took the hint and explored teeth and tongue and Bond tasting of coffee and cinnamon. He sighed when he ended it, studying Bond's face The man was smiling a bit crookedly at him, the bruises purpling the right side and making him look lopsided. Q dared to bring his hand up, barely grazing the skin of a stubbly jaw. This time he initiated the kiss, languorous and sweet and tangling their tongues in a sensual glide that had his head spinning. It was wonderful to feel as if he'd finally gotten it right. 

They kissed at intervals for what felt like forever, with Bond finally settling back and drawing Q with him. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, you do realize that? Your mouth is fucking addictive.” 

“But we're not doing anything except kissing. How do you know anything else?” 

Bond sighed. “I'd very much like to catch one or more of the idiots you dated in a dark alley somewhere. And a bright mind like yours never considered the possibility that they were just there to get off as quickly as possible? All you needed was someone to take their time and concern themselves with what you wanted as well as what they wanted.” He snorted in some amusement. “Do you know what I had planned for our dinner date? And by the way, we are doing that when we get back.” Q shrugged, as much as he could within the confines of Bond's embrace. “I was planning on a pleasant meal, posh but not too extravagant, and a long conversation. Then I planned to drive you home, kiss you good night, and start planning a second date. I was planning for a long courtship, Q.”

“But why?” Q blurted out. He had never expected that. Bond wooing him slowly was the last thing he would have seen in his future.

“Why not?” Bond responded. “You're worth the effort. My interest in you isn't casual and my approach was never meant to be either. I think I need one stable connection in my life. I was hoping you might feel the same way.”

Q studied Bond's face for a very long time. “As often as I daydreamed about something like this, and believe me I did, I never imagined you'd be this way. I mean, talking like this.”

Bond leaned in and Q felt his breath tickle over his ear, making him shiver pleasurably. “That wasn't an answer.”

Q explored a bit of skin on Bond's collarbone, grazing his teeth over it. “You didn't ask a question.” He felt relaxed, almost playful. 

Bond chuckled, licked up the curve of the ear he was apparently intent on. “I would like to know if you are interested in a relationship. Specifically I want to take you out, show you off, then bring you home so we can screw each other stupid at every available opportunity. Does that strike you as something you'd like?”

“Hmm,” Q drew the moment out. “Yes, if we can start now.” He dove in for another kiss and Bond grunted as Q shifted in his arms to straddle his lap. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Several heated moments later, Q surfaced and realized something he found very awkward. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not one thing,” Bond replied, stroking a hand over a conveniently accessible hip.

Q frowned. “But I can't help but notice that you're not very, well, interested, physically speaking.”

Bond smiled, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “You mean you're hard and I'm not? I had noticed. And before you get ahead of yourself, I am reasonably sure that's not happening right this minute and it has nothing to do with you. It means I'm injured and my body is not going to cooperate. It doesn't mean I'm not enjoying myself.” Q began to disentangle himself. Bond reached out a hand to stop him. “And it doesn't mean you have to stop enjoying yourself.” He tugged a little and Q sank into a position tucked under Bond's right arm, 

“It still feels selfish,” he muttered as Bond's right hand smoothed the fabric of the sweatshirt he was wearing. 

The hand stilled. “I don't mean to push. If you genuinely don't want to, that's fine.”

Q squirmed a little, torn between wanting more and the feeling of taking advantage. He tilted his head back. “You're really all right with this?”

Bond gave him that crooked grin again. “I'm more than all right. And I really want to get my hands on more of you. Take this off?” He tugged a bit at the sweatshirt. Finally convinced, Q sat up briefly and stripped the shirt off, tossing it devil knew where, before sinking back to the comfort of Bond's solid body. Bond nuzzled at Q's ear and sucked the tender lobe into his mouth. Q shuddered violently and closed his eyes, giving in to his desire, forgetting to worry for a bit about his previous lack of success. After all, Bond definitely knew what he was doing. The hand stroking over his torso was not at all tentative, varying firm touches with lighter brushes. When one of those passes stroked over his right nipple he gave a broken moan. The movement was immediately repeated, firmer and more purposeful, the small nub hardening and sending excitement rocketing through every nerve in his body. 

Q had been hard for almost the entire time they had been kissing, his body reacting beyond any ability to quell. Now he was positively aching and he could feel moisture spread from the head of his cock. “James!” he called, his voice rising in pitch. There was a soft chuckle in his ear and the roaming fingers found his left nipple and he hissed and squirmed as it was squeezed and rolled and tugged. His hips rose and he could hear himself repeating a litany of “pleasepleaseplease!”

There was a slight pause and James' hand slid down, just the tips of his fingers slipping under the waist of the sweatpants and the briefs under them. “May I?” the deep voice murmured and Q scrabbled frantically at the tied drawstring and shoved both garments out of the way. He forced his eyes open. He had to see this. His cock was almost flat against his belly, drooling and flushed, foreskin drawn back. James hummed in what sounded like approval. He extended his fingers, taking a long time to trace down from Q's navel, tickling the riot of curls and finally trailing just one fingertip along the length in an up and down glide, carrying the wetness from the head down the shaft and spreading it before wrapping his entire hand around it. He gave a few slow strokes, testing the angle and Q struggled to do more than just breathe as the head appeared and disappeared with each repetition.. The motion sped up very gradually, James also varying the tightness of his grip. Q almost screamed when James reached his left hand between his legs and pressed up behind his balls, a gentle circling motion of fingertips that added to the welter of sensations. He found himself thrashing, trying to get more of everything and heard and felt the soft encouraging whispers at his ear. “That's it. Let go. You are so lovely like this. Come for me.” 

Q's sense of time seemed to distort. His orgasm pulsed out and over James' hand and he gave a hoarse cry as he threw his head back, eyes closed . He opened them again to feel James kissing the side of his neck, that strong hand rubbing at his belly where he was, undoubtedly, a mess. He always seemed to come more than seemed possible. He got his breathing under control and looked up. James gave him a completely dirty grin, brought his come smeared fingers to his mouth and deliberately licked them. Q moaned at the eroticism of the gesture and felt his cock try to twitch. Bond only laughed evilly. Bastard knew what he was doing. Still, Q couldn't really be upset at anything right now. He was too sated and relaxed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It took a long time for Q to feel like moving. He found himself almost dozing again which frankly shocked him. His mind was normally too active to allow him to sleep at night much less nap during the day but he seemed prone to it today. He lifted his head and peered around. Bond made a soft grumbling protest and wrapped an arm tighter around Q. “Stay,” he muttered, sleepy voice resonating in Q's ear. 

“I seriously think I need to move,” Q replied. “I am a bit, well, messy,” he finally settled on that word.

Bond seemed to consider this, sighed and released his grip. “I suppose I could use a bit of a clean up as well. Any chance of a shower?”

Q rose to his feet, Hauling his clothes back into place as he did so. “The shower is actually a good one, lots of hot water.” He jumped as a large hand curved around his buttock, squeezing gently. He turned his head to meet Bond's eyes, teasing and warm. 

“I don't suppose this marvelous shower is big enough for two?” He grinned and then gave a pained grunt as he rose from the sofa. “Maybe that's an idea best investigated later.” He made his way to the bedroom and Q headed to the storeroom. No doubt Bond would want clean clothes after the shower, especially if any of his wounds had bled at all. He returned to the sound of the shower running and peered around the corner of the door. The room was filled with steam, the fogged shower enclosure displaying a shadow of the body under the spray. Bond's discarded clothes were piled neatly in the corner and the Beretta Q had left tucked at the head of the mattress was resting on the edge of the sink. Not surprising actually. Bond would hate the idea of being without a weapon, even in this isolated spot. He left extra towels and retrieved the medical kit. He was arranging the kit next to the bed when Bond emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist and Beretta in hand. He glanced at it when Q looked pointedly at his hand. “Force of habit,” he said simply before placing the weapon on the bedside table.

Q gave himself a second to absorb the impact of James Bond in a towel. He took a deep breath and turned toward the bed, managing to get his tongue untangled long enough to say, “Lie down.”

Bond, to Q's immense relief just slid past and lay down on his stomach, towel still firmly in place. Q eyed the expanses of skin with a critical eye. The bruising was much more prominent but most of the cuts were looking better after the shower. The largest wound, the one on the right leg, had bled more. Q eyed it dubiously. The area looked a bit swollen. “Something wrong?” Bond asked mildly, turning his head to look.

Q grabbed the antiseptic wipes. “I think I need to clean this up a bit. How does it feel?” Not an idle question. Bond had suffered such a variety of injuries in his career. He would certainly be a good judge of the state of his body, assuming he was willing to be honest. 

Bond moved the leg a bit and the muscles rippled and flexed while Q watched, berating himself for being so taken with the sight. “It feels a bit tight but I think that's just a reaction to the stitches.” He snaked a hand backwards and ran fingertips over the area. “It doesn't feel hot either. Is it just blood you're seeing?”

Q used another wipe. “Just a bit of blood.” He dabbed antibiotic salve on with a wooden tongue blade. 

Bond had put his head back down, resting on his crossed arms. “It'll be fine, Q. You dosed me with the antibiotics and I think I know what an infection feels like. I've had enough of them. Let me turn over and you can check the rest.” He suited action to words and rolled to his back, somehow keeping the towel in place. Q wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed, but he continued his determined survey of the injuries he had treated last night, finding a few more he hadn't noticed. The entire time he was aware of the weight of Bond's gaze, following his movements and always returning to his face. He was looking at the bruising on the right thigh just above the knee and applying more salve to a shallow abrasion in the center when he looked sideways. The towel was twitching, or rather what was under the towel was twitching. Q, not really sure why he was suddenly feeling brave, stroked a bit higher, a gentle glide of his fingertips, watching surreptitiously as the towel again gave a revealing movement toward his fingers. Well, experiments should be repeated to get sufficient data. He gave a few more ticklish touches before Bond cleared his throat. “Is that supposed to be therapeutic? Not that I mind but just to be clear, you understand?”

Q looked up a bit guiltily, but not enough to take his hand away. He just stilled it where it was for a moment. When Bond rested his head back into the pillow with a slight smile on his lips, Q resumed his slow explorations, eventually sliding just the tips of his fingers under the edge of the towel, encountering silky skin that seemed to be seeking contact even as he was. Bond gave a slow stretch and the shift let the towel slide away and brought Q's hand into a fuller contact, running his hand along the hardening cock. Nerves almost overcame him but he was sure he would regret it if he didn't take the chance. He snuck a peek up at Bond's face but the man seemed unconcerned, eyes closed and face relaxed. Well, this was one thing he knew something about anyway. He'd had plenty of experience with his own hands. He wrapped his fingers in a gentle grip around the shaft and Bond gave a low satisfied sound in his throat, moving his hips minutely in an encouraging fashion. Q tried some of the things that felt good for him, a gradual up and down and circle around the head with the thumb of his opposite hand. He was startled when Bond spoke. “Maybe you'd like to do this together?” Q realized he was the focus of intent blue eyes. He must have looked completely puzzled. Bond crooked a finger at him. “Come up here.” He released his grip and sidled up the bed a bit. Bond tapped him on the hip. “Get out of these and straddle my hips.” Q scrambled a bit, finally tossing the clothes over the edge of the mattress, He moved with exaggerated care, trying not to place any of his weight where it might be uncomfortable. Bond was not nearly so hesitant. He snaked his right arm around Q's back and tugged, bringing them skin to skin from chest to thighs. 

“James, I'm afraid I could make your injuries worse.” He loved where he was but thought he should at least say something. The response was a slow and very persuasive kiss that rendered Q breathless.

“I think I know my own capacities, darling.” He reached his hand down and Q gave a hoarse cry as James gripped both their cocks and slid them through his fist, “Now kiss me and shift that pretty arse a bit. You do the hard work, hmm?”

Q squirmed ineffectually a bit but finally began moving his hips in an up and down glide that moved their erections together in the tunnel of James' grip. He felt as if he wanted to do this, just this, forever and the next instant felt as if it had to stop soon because it was overwhelming. He became aware of the soft encouraging things James was saying, praising his body and urging him to keep moving. He ground down harder, breathless with the effort and the heated closeness. James tightened and relaxed his grip, precome slicking everything. The urgency finally became too much to ignore. Q's hips and legs stiffened and seemed to turn to jelly as he pulsed out his orgasm, pleasure sparkling through his nerves, dimly aware of Bond moving his hand more rapidly and a gush of fluid added to the considerable spreading pool between them. He forced himself to keep his weight supported and shoved himself sideways, collapsing on the mattress, heart still rabbitting, breathing as if he had just run a mile. 

“I think if you get any better at this, I might end up perpetually exhausted,” James commented lightly. 

Q felt the flush of pleasure at the compliment. “Can I keep practicing on you?”

Bond rolled to his side and grappled Q into his arms. “I certainly don't want you practicing on anyone else.” He punctuated the comment with a kiss. “Hope you don't mind me being a bit possessive.” Q felt a sudden chill but bit back what he wanted to say. He knew it was impossible for Bond to alter who he was on the job. He must have telegraphed the thought, because Bond looked at him seriously. “I know I haven't got any track record at relationships. I'd like to see if I can change that. Frankly I think behaving like a tomcat is getting a bit old.”

Q shook his head. “What about the missions? I mean they always seem to set you up in these situations...”

Bond gave a disgusted snort. “They can send someone else as far as I'm concerned. I'll tell them to alter the cover ID's they use. I'll probably leave the field work anyway in the next year. I'm healthy enough but keeping up the physical standards is taking more and more time. I'm in the bloody gym for hours now just to keep up with the younger agents. Tanner has mentioned he'd like to put me up for combat instructor. I have to say it makes a bit of sense. It makes use of what I've learned after all.”

Q frowned and considered that. “Are you sure you'd be happy with that? I mean it doesn't have any of the excitement you're used to.”

Bond shook his head. “Excitement is all well and good. I might miss it a bit. I will absolutely not miss the absolute terror when something goes drastically, explosively wrong. I certainly won't miss getting injured. I think I have shed enough blood for Queen and country.”

Q scoffed. “You've never been afraid of anything in your life.”

Bond went quite serious. “Q, only an utter arse could fail to feel fear in some of the fixes I've been in. Bomb timers ticking down to the last few seconds before I could stop them, jumping out of exploding planes, motorbike chases over rooftops, I could go on but you get the point. The job I do has stretches of stultifying boredom punctuated by moments of heart stopping panic and the only reason I get through that is I don't give myself any time to think about it until much later, usually with a large drink in hand. There's a reason I avoid the psych testing.”

“You really are serious about all this?” Q blinked a few times and crossed his eyes when Bond kissed the tip of his nose. It appeared he had a fondness for the gesture. Or maybe he just liked the way it distracted Q.

“I am serious about you too. Get showered and get me on line to thank Eddie for helping me out. Probably thinks I drowned my sorry self.” Bond sat and cleaned himself up with the corner of the bath towel Q had lined the bed with and began dressing in the change of clothes Q had brought for him. Q headed bemusedly to the shower, trying to fit his head around the discussion he had just had.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Q emerged from the bedroom to find Bond settled in front of the television. He had tuned in to the weather forecast which was offering very serious analyses of the damage already suffered during the storm and some less than confident predictions of when the weather might abate. It appeared the initial storm was already almost past but two more trailed the first with no real respite between. To the populace in general, the whole mess would appear as a continuous event. There were dire warnings that unusually warm water temperatures and a slow forward speed might make the last system the worst of the three. Q settled in front of his computers and scanned his department messages. Bond wandered over, a cup of coffee in hand, and looked over his shoulder. Q glanced up and commented, “There's fuck all going on, thankfully. Do you want to message your friend?”

Bond nodded and typed in an address in the message panel Q opened. He added a note, 'Arrived on schedule. Fishing is excellent. The big one got away, however.' He added a two digit signature and sent it. “Eddie will recognize it. It's the last two digits of my military ID. His is the same in reverse. We use that as a sort of shorthand.”

Q nodded, impressed. It was clever and certainly not something anyone else would be looking for. Just a friendly message. Another thought occurred. “What about Mallory? I mean if there's a callout you don't even have a phone.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of the keyboard. “Could we get away with a half truth do you think?”

“All right, genius. What did you have in mind?” Bond settled onto the kitchen chair nearest and ran an idle foot up and down Q's calf. 

Q bent to look under the table at the offending appendage very pointedly and said, “Please stop that. It's quite distracting and I need to concentrate.”

Bond withdrew the foot and gave a sly smile. “Very good to know. I'll plan on thoroughly distracting you later.”

“Is your friend Cosgrove the same chap I've heard of in connection to new submersible tech, drones and such?” When Bond nodded, Q continued. “What if we say you volunteered to help him test a device in difficult operational conditions. Would he be willing to cover for you?” 

Bond spoke thoughtfully. “He was planning on testing the thing anyway. I'm sure he would go along.”

Q handed over his own heavily encrypted mobile. He sent a message to the email address Bond had used and included a number. A few seconds passed and the mobile chirped. The caller ID was unavailable but it was Cosgrove when Bond answered. “Hey, Eddie, might need an additional favor. This was an unplanned holiday, you might say and if the boss asks...” He listened for a few moments. “Well it does help us both out. Thank you. I owe you drinks the next time you're ashore. Ta.” He clicked the call off and watched as Q deleted evidence of the call. “Eddie is going to kill two birds with one stone. His research gets to use the data the sled sent back and he can get further funding and he tells Mallory I was dragooned in to helping him. He needed someone with clearance and I was on leave and he knows my skills, etc. Mallory may not buy it entirely but he's not likely to call a Royal Navy commander a liar, especially one with Eddie Cosgroves's connections.” Bond smirked.

“Connections?” Q asked, head cocked to one side.

“A few words to an old friend or two by Eddie and Mallory might find himself explaining his actions to his own superiors.” Bond winked.

“But M doesn't answer to anyone but the Home Secretary and Her Majesty...” Q trailed off, open mouthed and wide eyed. 

Bond smiled and leaned back. “Let's leave it there. Eddie Cosgrove has a very broad acquaintance, a penchant for being a good friend in a crisis and keeps his own counsel about what his friends may or may not have done in their misspent youths. That loyalty is a very precious quality in some circles.” Q shut his mouth and then almost choked. Cosgroves's friends might also be acquaintances of Bond's. He recalled watching Bond at some gala honoring agents for their service and how comfortable he'd looked when a couple of the royals had gestured him over. He'd been in full naval uniform and Q had marveled at the affable yet respectful demeanor and the confiding shared laugh when one of the men had pointed to a particular decoration and said something about how he'd really earned that one. Well, that was a whole new aspect of the man, and definitely not in any of the files.

Q shook his head a bit and returned to work mode, making sure any issues with the department were dealt with, thankfully there were few of them. He was finishing a video conference with R when a sharp tone cut in. Mallory, damn it! Q concluded with R and answered the video request from their chief. On the screen, Mallory was as cool and contained as ever. The windows behind him reflected the storm hitting London, the sky iron grey and the rain sheeting down the glass. “Ah excellent, Q. I wanted to alert you to keep an eye out. Apparently 007 was assisting a Royal Navy researcher in your area. The device he was testing may have come to grief on the island. If the weather permits, you might have a scout around for him.”

Q turned the laptop so the camera caught Bond, who raised his coffee in that direction. “007 is rather like that bad penny, sir. He does tend to turn up.”

“Hello, 007. Commander Cosgrove was most appreciative of your help. Might be nice if he'd asked before he press ganged one of my operatives but that's neither here nor there. I'd prefer it if you stayed there for the moment. Better to have eyes on our Quartermaster at present.”

Bond narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Why might that be, sir?”

Mallory seemed to consider his words carefully. “There was an incident at your flat, Q. A neighbor spotted someone attempting a break in and was slightly injured. The prowler evaded capture. It may have been a random robbery attempt but I never assume that with my department heads. Best you stay there with 007 as a watchdog for now.”

Q had turned the screen back around. “Who was hurt? How badly?” 

Mallory consulted a page on the desk. “A Mr. M. Singh was taken to hospital. He had a fractured wrist and has been treated and released. He was apparently quite vocal about someone breaking into 'his' building.”

Q shook his head. “Mandeep is the head of the local volunteer ambulance service. He must have hated being hauled in by his own lads..”

Mallory gave a strained smile. “His wife is quite formidable in her own way. She shouted at the doctor in A&E and insisted on rewrapping the splint herself.”

“That's because she's a casualty nurse. She probably trained that doctor. She knows almost every one at the local hospital. I've often thought she might be a good recruit for our medical division.” He glanced pointedly at Bond as he said this. 

Mallory made a non committal noise and then looked directly at Q. “Just make sure you keep a sharp eye out and make use of Bond., although he does look a bit battered. I'll have all updates forwarded to you.” He closed the chat window and Q sat back a moment before opening a browser. 

Bond watched as Q called up the website of a boutique bakery and ordered a basket of cupcakes and had it sent to his injured neighbor. “Good friend?” Bond inquired.

“He and his wife feed me on a regular basis and, since they work odd shifts, take it on themselves to be alert for anything going on. At any given time, they may have five kids aside from their own, doing homework at their kitchen table. They're just good people.” Q swiped through several more pages of emails and memos before sighing and sitting back, running his hands through his hair and stretching his neck side to side. “Do you really think we need to be concerned about the break in?”

Bond had gotten up and was opening and closing cupboard doors. “This place is it's own defense in a lot of ways. Only a few cleared people know where you are and getting here is never easy even in good weather.” He removed a few items and set them on the counter and opened the fridge door, studying the contents.

“But it's not impossible,” Q observed. “You managed it.”

Bond weighed a package of chicken in his hand and added it to the items on the counter. “True. But I had special equipment and a naval vessel to get me here. The beach access here is nearly impossible. The engineers did that very deliberately when they redesigned this place. I'll start taking sweeps around a few times a day and I'd recommend you see if something can be done with the approach alarms. Other than that, I don't see what we can do except sit tight and wait for the weather to clear. Do you like chicken Parmesan?”

Q stared unsure of what he had just heard. “You cook?” he finally asked.

Bond pointed at the ingredients. “I know the principles. I enjoy good food and learned how to put together things I enjoy. You mean you don't?”

Q gave a rueful shake of his head. “If not for Mr. Singh and his wife and the takeaway on the corner, I'd live on frozen dinners.” He gestured at the computers. “When I work, I forget about everything else and usually eat the first thing that's convenient.”

Bond shook his head. “Better for your health and concentration if you eat more consistently. Even the cafeteria at MI6 is better, although they have very little imagination.” While he was speaking he was cutting the chicken into thin slices and breading it. Q wasn't even sure where the spices and such had come from but the swiftly browning morsels smelled amazing. Bond emptied a number of cans into the blender and pureed it all, stopping to add more seasoning and finally pouring the pitcher over the chicken in a large glass dish. He grated and added cheese to the top and set the dish in the oven. He turned around and wiped his hands on a towel and said, “Dinner in 40 minutes.” He walked past the table, gave Q a kiss on the top of his head and began to move around the rooms, checking windows and finally exiting in the direction of the pass through to the tower. Q hit the control to the TV and scanned through the channels on the satellite feed before returning to the weather. Airline service was being significantly disrupted and there were highway closings reported everywhere. He watched for awhile but each successive report seemed worse than the last. It made him moderately anxious about his friends and coworkers. He picked up the phone and hit the second number in his contact list. 

“Hello Robinson Crusoe. I hear your man Friday has arrived.” Eve's tone was full of amusement.

“Very funny, Moneypenny. Yes, you did tell me so. You win.” Q sensed he had won a small victory himself. She had been expecting an argument and now all her intended barbs were left useless. “I called to see how you're doing. Anyone building a large wooden boat yet?”

Her chuckle over the phone was warm and full of amusement at them both. “No boats, but I've given up on traveling back and forth to work. I just packed a case and took over one of the bunker rooms. I got soaked down to my skin the first day and decided it was just less frustrating. A few of the other staff have done the same. It's fairly congenial actually. We have dinner together and watch bad movies. You'd like it.” She made a comment to someone that was muffled, her hand over the phone probably, then said, “M wears bright yellow wellies and army foul weather gear and changes to his suit once he gets here. I almost tripped the intruder alarms when I saw him walk in like that. But how are you doing, darling?”

“I'm doing very well actually. Why not just move on to whatever salacious interrogation you were planning? I know you're dying to.” Q knew his friends and Moneypenny took a positively obsessive interest in everyone's love life.

“Ooh, details please. Have you been laid within an inch of your life? Are you spoiled for the touch of any other human? Please share.” He heard her moving about, probably getting comfortable somewhere she wouldn't be interrupted.

“You sound like a gossip column or some awful romance novel! Yes, we have done more than talk but I have no intention of painting you dirty pictures. Seriously, I know you're bored stuck at HQ but just no.” Q nibbled on a biscuit and listened to the measured ticks of the oven timer and the wind still scouring the exterior of his little oasis. 

“Q, you are a very cruel friend. How is Bond? A little bird told me that he had a bit of a rough landing.” This time she did sound concerned. 

“He's bruised and battered. Apparently Mother Nature is the one adversary a 00 can't defeat. My first aid training came in very useful.” He turned his head slightly, hearing a faint clang from the direction of the passage. “I think Bond's returning from his survey of the security. I'll tell him you called. Stay safe.” He rang off and finished the biscuit. Bond emerged from the passage, closing the door behind him. He walked past Q's chair, running his fingers lightly over the nape of his neck. Q shivered and reflected that he would never have suspected Bond would be such an easy toucher or that he would react so strongly to something so simple. “Eve says hello and hopes you're feeling better,” Q said as he admired the exceptional view as Bond bent to check the oven. The sweatpants pulled snugly over the sleek muscled curves and made Q wish he was sitting a bit closer. His fingers itched to touch. His face must have revealed the path of his thoughts. Bond glanced over his shoulder and smirked. Q looked down at the table as if it had suddenly become interesting and Bond chuckled. 

“If it's any comfort, I like to look at you as well.” He grabbed the oven mitts and removed the dish from the oven, the savory smell filling the air. “If you like, we can do a bit more looking after dinner.” Seeing no point in hiding his eagerness, Q just nodded fervently and dug into the plate Bond slid in front of him.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It turned out, after dinner was a bit later than Q might have preferred. He ended up fidgeting with the exterior alarm settings while Bond made another circuit of the buildings. The weather had eased, the forecasters advising people to make good use of the few hours before the next storm system would hit in earnest and make necessary repairs to damaged windows, etc and make short trips for needed food and fuel or A&E visits if they had injuries. Donning heavy waterproof coats, Bond and Q went outside. The wind was still gusting fiercely but there were lulls. The clouds looked shredded and brief glimpses of blue appeared only to disappear the next moment. Q concentrated on the perimeter alarms and Bond walked to the beach, returning with a battered set of air tanks. “No sign of the sled,” he commented as he took the tanks to the storage shed to the left of the cottage. He returned to watch Q finish with the sensors, walking past them and studying the read outs on his mobile. 

“I think they're working better,” he mused. “I dialed the sensitivity down a bit and tightened the radius. There may not be any overlap though. Might be a small gap between their individual fields.”

“Enough to be a problem?” Bond asked seriously.

“No way to be sure, is there? Anyway, it's better than it was. When I have time in the lab I can redesign the system but I don't want to completely dismantle this one now in order to maybe get a bit more efficiency.” He glanced up at the sky. “Anyway, I don't think I have the time to physically reinstall the whole thing before that happens.” Q pointed at the horizon where the next storm front was already bearing down. 

Bond followed his gaze and nodded. He glanced around, moving slowly as he examined the ground in front of the lighthouse, the broken stubs of fence posts and the distant bulk of the dock which seemed to be unscathed. “I'm going to check the dock. I'll be back in a few.” He moved off in a steady ground covering stride and Q turned to go back inside, setting the kettle to heat and listening as the drumbeats of the thunder began to increase in frequency and the next storm made itself known. 

The kettle was whistling brightly by the time the alarms hooted and he checked the camera. Bond was trudging back up to the cottage, leaning into the wind that had strengthened again, hood pulled up around his face. Q opened the door and flinched back as Bond shrugged out of the jacket and chill drops of mixed rain and seawater flew everywhere. “Sorry,” Bond said as he scrubbed his fingers through his cropped hair. “The rain started in again just as I was coming up the path. It's already pretty vile. The dock seems fine though.”

Q had hung up the coat next to his own. “The proximity alarms worked as well. They sounded about the time you were crossing into the yard.”

Bond nodded once in approval and headed for the kitchen right behind Q, accepting a mug of strong sugared tea and easing back against the counter. He rotated his shoulder a bit. Q noticed the movement and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “It's alright. Just making sure the muscles don't stiffen up.” Bond sipped the tea and considered Q over the rim of the mug. “So how do you feel about blow jobs?” If there had been any tea left in his mug, Q might have choked. “I take it that means another bad experience?” Bond asked carefully.

Q considered how best to answer. “I'm not good at them, but we could try.” He sounded fairly uncertain even to himself.

Bond snickered. “I love how you assume you'd be the one with his mouth full. I wondered if you fancied getting one.”

Q opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed a choked, “Yes?”

Bond moved across the kitchen, plucked the empty mug from Q's fingers and wrapped his arms around him. “There is no right or wrong answer. I suggested it because I think you'll like it but we can do something else or nothing at all. And don't think you're obliged to reciprocate if you don't enjoy it.”

Q took a deep breath. “I just can't figure out how to manage it and breathe at the same time.” Bond leaned back and looked at him seriously for a moment and then sighed and hugged him again. 

After a moment he stepped away slightly, keeping Q's right hand gripped in his left and moving slowly toward the bedroom. “Put the mobile where we can hear it.” Q deposited the mobile, which was set to receive any alarms, on the bedside table and watched as Bond disappeared in the bathroom. There was a sound of rummaging in drawers and cabinets until Bond reappeared in the doorway with a disappointed frown. “No lube?” Q felt his throat tighten as he nodded at the medical kit. Bond retrieved the small blue and white tube. “Relax, Q. I have no intention of fucking or being fucked right now. No condoms, unless you brought them. I certainly didn't have them in the drysuit. No condoms means no fucking. But there are other uses for this.” He waggled the tube and raised his eyebrows rather comically. He threw a couple of the purple gloves on the quilt as well. Q was puzzled but decided to go along. James had been truthful so far and he was more excited than scared right now. He'd spent too much time with fantasies and his right hand to turn down this experience. 

“So what should I do?” Q finally managed to ask. He thought his voice sounded normal.

“As much as I think you're cute in a too large sweatshirt, I'd like you better out of it.” Bond reached for the hem and tugged it up and off, rescuing Q's glasses and placing them on the table next to the phone. He brought his hands back to rest them on Q's hips, just above the waist of the sweatpants. He brushed a soft kiss over Q's mouth and slid his hands under the waistband. Or tried to. He muttered 'ouch' and withdrew his left hand, shaking it a bit, eyeing the still splinted finger balefully. Q decided expedience was a good idea. He quickly stepped out of the rest of his clothes and began to work on James'. He got very enthusiastic cooperation there and took some time to explore a bit more than he had previously. Where it wasn't tanned, James' skin was pale and he had a lovely dusting of almost invisible freckles. Q was fascinated and utterly taken with a need to explore and was encouraged by the way James returned his shy caresses with equally gentle ones He might have just stood there for hours but after a little more give and take, James tipped his chin up and waited until Q looked fully into his eyes. Q blinked slowly. “You may want to lie down.” Q nodded and eased himself carefully back onto the bed, watching as James sat down next to him. Leaning in, James kissed him, deep and toe curling, leaving Q gasping. Lips trailed down his neck and over his chest, unhurried and interspersed with light touches of tongue and teeth. A lick over a nipple and then a soft puff of air made Q shiver. He was impossibly aroused already just from the focused attention and anticipation. Light suction and a teasing pressure of teeth sent shockwaves through him, James teasing the other nipple with his fingers, pinching and rubbing until Q squirmed unsure if he wanted it to stop or not. Bond left off with a parting lick and moved downward, following no pattern Q could discern, but seeming intent on contact with every centimeter of skin. When the tip of a tongue intruded into his navel Q gave a convulsive shudder and James gave a light nip to the skin nearby and moved yet further, nuzzling at Q's erection and licking it, slow presses of tongue that made Q want to scream as it stimulated but not enough. There was a pause and Bond murmured, “All right if I do a bit of exploring with my fingers” He held up the lube in a hand that now sported one of the purple gloves. Q knew where that lube and those fingers were going. He nodded agreement without much hope. This was another problem. He was always too tense or maybe he was just not someone who would ever enjoy this aspect of sex. Bond lowered his head and slid his mouth down over Q's cock and that was glorious, heat, just enough suction on a slow upward withdrawal and a tongue that was doing something indescribable to the underside of his shaft, Before he realized quite what was happening there was a gentle pressure at his opening, slow circling motions that mimicked what James' tongue was doing. James raised his head, mouth slightly swollen and slick with saliva and precome and waited until Q could focus on him. “Is this all right?” Q nodded fiercely. “Good. Then take a deep breath and then exhale.” With that James sank his head impossibly further down. Q remembered to do as asked and when his head stopped swimming, because how could the man SWALLOW for heavens sake, he found that single digit had gained easy comfortable entrance and was stroking inside him. It felt odd but he was too distracted by the way James' mouth was doing such amazing things. Then something lit him up as that exploring finger brushed over a single spot and every one of his muscles tightened and he screamed, deafening in the previous quiet. James rode the sudden frantic motion as Q rocked between the two sources of stimulation, feeling pressure and heat build up until he came as hard as he could ever remember, James still swallowing as he slid his finger gently out. Glove discarded, james slid up the bed, cradling Q in his arms as he gasped and twitched in the aftermath, unable to even speak but just clinging as if Bond were his only anchor. Realizing he was doing it, Q tried to roll aside a bit, shocked when James just readjusted his grip and pulled Q's head into his shoulder, nosing into the hair at his temple and shushing him gently. “Relax, I've got you.” Q let his pulse decrease to almost normal and gave in to the impulse to maintain contact, pressing as much of himself to James as he could and was shocked when the only reaction was for James to roll them so Q was tucked in under the weight of James' body, blanketed with his presence. He heaved a huge sigh and went boneless. “Enjoy yourself?” James' voice a purr in his ear. “As if you couldn't tell,” Q snorted. “A man likes to know his efforts are appreciated,” James replied in the driest of tones. “Although the reaction was pretty clear.”

Q's brain was never stilled for long. “Do you need something?”

“In a bit,” James replied. “Best get used to me being a bit slower than you.”

Q was about to ask what he meant by get used to when an electronic shriek split the quiet. Bond was on his feet scrambling into his clothes and Q was right behind him, dragging the mobile over and checking the display.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

“Where?” Bond barked, all business.

“The walkway, near the tower.” Q was frantically scanning the display. “Bond, they'll cut us off completely. The satellite dish is at the top of the lighthouse. The cables all run up through the same housing. “

Bond grabbed up the Beretta and held out a hand. Q fished the extra clip out of the drawer and handed over the phone. “I can use the connection on my laptop to communicate. Keep it on and just talk.” They moved quickly to the lounge, Q heading for his computers. Bond rested a hand on the door of the passage. “Where's the easiest place to cut the cables?” 

“They have to do it at the top. The housings are buried in the walls the rest of the way up.” There was a deafening crash and the building shook. Dust puffed out around the door frame and the storm sounded wilder and closer than it ever had. “Charges. The passage walls are thinner than the rest of the building.” While he was speaking, Q was frantically attempting to send distress calls to MI6 and to any Naval or Coast Guard vessels nearby. Bond eased the door open and started through, 

“I'm going to try to get to the top before they do. If they cut us off, we're done.” Q listened, hearing the thud of the footsteps as Bond climbed the staircase in the tower and the repeated crashes as their enemies continued to attempt an entrance blended with the cacophony of the storm's fury. Bond was up there alone with only a handgun trying to protect him from the intruders. If he were honest, the likelihood was that they were after him and he was prepared to happily murder whoever had given these bastards the access to find out where he was. There was another crash and he grabbed the best option for a weapon, the heavy knife Bond had been wearing at his belt when he arrived. It was wickedly sharp and weighed satisfyingly in his hand. If he could get close enough to an intruder, he could remove a lot of the advantage a gun afforded. 

The feed from the phone was sporadically clear, interspersed with the scream of the gale and shouts as the intruders scaled the tower and Bond fired back. In the confusion, Q couldn't recall how many shots had been fired. There was a succession of grunted breaths, a sound of shattering glass and the screech of the wind intensified. Then the feed went dark. Q felt numb cold and then bitter rage. He was not going to sit here and be a target. Gripping the knife firmly he stalked to the door. Approaching the tower stair, he had to step over bodies, four of them in a tumbled heap, no telling if Bond's shots or the fall had killed them and he frankly didn't give a fuck right now. He eased as quietly as he could up the stairs. There was no sign of Bond but there were two other men, one bent over the lamp housing and one looking out a shattered frame in the glass surround. Q withdrew his head below the floor level and thought. Neither man had been looking at the stairs. He peeked again and inched up slowly, behind the man at the lens console. He swallowed hard once and brought the blade up with as much force as he could manage, straight up through the back near the kidneys and into the lungs. Before the man could drop, he wrenched his gun away, the knife wedged in the corpse now useless. The man at the window, apparently hearing something over the din outside, turned and got three shots in his face as Q advanced, blood spraying everywhere as he overbalanced backward and against the empty frame. Q raised a foot and shoved as hard as he could and the body toppled outwards, arcing out from the tower. Q leaned out, looking at the body sprawled on the rocks and nodded his head in grim satisfaction. He turned and surveyed the cramped confines and heard a soft groan. Intending to finish off any of the intruders left alive, he found Bond, wedged behind the console and the wall, bloodied and unconscious. He dragged him out and assessed the damage. The bullet wounds were superficial, one having gone through his calf and the other a graze along the ribs. He been choked as well from the bruising on his throat. Q vaguely wished he could resurrect some of the bodies just to kill them again. He wished more that Bond would wake up though. He took a deep breath, and examined the lens turret. The cables had been unplugged. Overconfident bastards. He reconnected everything and watched the lamp resume it's rotation. He clambered down the stairs and managed to raise R almost immediately. He cut off any questioning and gave a terse description of their situation. He was shocked when she told him they had already told the Penzance to turn around and send a rescue party ashore. Their arrival was predicted when the next lull in the storm was expected although they could not guarantee a window that would allow evacuation. Q was still on his own for a few hours at least. He grabbed the medical kit and trudged back up the stairs. He was patching the graze on Bond's ribs when the man opened his eyes and muttered, voice hoarse and whispery “Knew you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me.”

Q slapped the tape on a bit harder than necessary. Bond ouched then looked around. “They're all dead. Four of them at the bottom of the tower and one there. I skewered him with that bloody huge knife you had when you got here. I used his gun to shoot the last one and shoved him out the window there. The Penzance is coming back with a rescue team. I have to get you down these stairs and I am heartily sick of people interfering with my love life and trying to kill me, not to mention bleeding on me.” Q surveyed his gore spattered self with some disgust. 

They struggled slowly down the steps, Q supporting Bond as they did. He managed to maneuver him into the bed and stared as Bond began to laugh. “What's funny?” Q demanded.  
  
“Oh, just M is going to be very annoyed.”

“At what? This level of destruction is fairly routine for you.” Q stood with hands on hips feeling quite put out and wondering if he should just excuse the hilarity as due to concussion.

“Not me. You. Two of those corpses are your doing. While not officially ordered, I am certain they will be sanctioned after the fact as enemies of the Crown. That means you are entitled to 00 status.” Bond grinned and Q stared back, speechless. “Yes. The deadliest Quartermaster in MI6 history. I'll have to be on my best behavior with you.”

Q found his voice, shaking his head. “I'll believe it when I see it.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The party from the Penzance would arrive in three hours. Q spent the interval securing the door to the passage and keeping in communication with R. He had started an AAR but was frankly puzzled at how to force it to make sense. He was most concerned with how the intruders had figured out where he was and what they had been after. The suspicion was that they were mercenaries intending to ransom him to the highest bidder. They had no previous concrete allegiance. R had already hunted out the leak, a former low level employee who had been passed over for promotion and had no regard for the Official Secrets Act and a too high regard for cryptocurrency. He had fled the country but M had dispatched 004 to deal with him. Once he'd had been found, they might have more information. As it stood, Q couldn't do anything with the ones who had come here. You couldn't interrogate corpses. He had examined the bodies as much as he was able, retrieving their weapons and any other effects. There were few of those. They had been professionals, carrying no ID. 

Q piled the weapons in the lounge, bringing one of the handguns to Bond along with two spare mags. He unceremoniously stripped off and bagged every stitch he was wearing, ignoring the wolf whistle Bond directed at him, and stepped gratefully into the shower. He scrubbed fastidiously at every inch of skin, rinsed, and did it all over again. He wasn't sure when he realized he was crying but once he did, it seemed impossible to stop. He felt as if his legs might collapse and he opened the shower door to find Bond seated on the closed toilet and holding a towel. He almost fell into Bond's embrace, unable to do anything but hang on and shake while tears continued to course down his face. Bond, injured as he was, moved them in a slow progression to the bed, tumbling them both in and keeping Q close the entire time. It seemed to take a very long time before he finally choked to a halt, eyes burning, throat tight and body limply exhausted. 

“Adrenaline crash,” Bond commented succinctly in a whisper, all his own bruised throat would allow. “Probably worse because you're not used to action like that. And it hits people in a lot of different ways.”

“You don't react like that,” Q ventured.

“Not after all my years in the field, no. But it still happens. I once put my hand through a wall in my flat. Just rest for a bit. We'll hear the alarms when the rescue gets here.” Bond eased the duvet up over them. 

Q wasn't sleeping but he was somewhere drifting when the alarms shrilled. He huffed at having to leave his comfortable space and grabbed clean clothes. He was still settling his glasses as he went to the camera by the door. Five men stood outside, four in Naval SBS uniforms, with slung weapons and one carrying a chest displaying a prominent medical red cross. The man with the case stepped up to the door and called out, “I'm Fletcher, Medical Officer for the HMS Penzance, We're here to render assistance,” He held up identification and Q checked it with the data R had sent, finally admitting the group. The men stepped to various vantage points. Q offered the use of the kitchen to make tea and led Fletcher to the bedroom. 

Fletcher was efficient and listened carefully to what Q had to say about the injuries Bond had sustained, frankly admiring the job Q had done up to that point. He found nothing to do about the graze, administered a local and explored the calf wound, pronounced that clean although he did administer another precautionary dose of antibiotics. “I don't want to give any pain killers because of the head injury.” He answered a radio that squawked irritatingly, listening to his earpiece. “The Penzance is standing off. The last storm is rolling in quicker than expected although the good news is it's probably going to pass over quicker as well. I'm afraid we're all stuck here for a bit.”

Q gestured. “There is another bedroom, bunks I'm afraid. What about the bodies?”

“They're already being dealt with. The squad is moving them all to that storage shed we saw.” Fletcher was packing up his kit as he spoke.

“Make sure they get the one at the base of the lighthouse.” “Fletcher gave Q a long considering look and nodded. He left the room, calling over the radio to one of the squad to check outside the lighthouse.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Q waited a few moments. “I'm staying here with you. If you don't want to have anyone asking questions, I'll just say I have to keep checking you for the concussion.”

Bond shrugged. “Don't give a damn what anyone thinks if you don't. Unless you have some serious objection, I'm making it official with the department when we get back. I don't intend to sneak around.” 

Q startled and then felt a smile, the first in too long crease his face. Bond smiled back. “I'll get something to eat, Be back shortly.” He hurried to the kitchen and made sandwiches and grabbed the open pack of biscuits and loaded a tray with fresh tea and the food. The men in the lounge eyed the tray and he shrugged. “Help yourselves.” He shoved the bedroom door shut with his hip, put the tray down and locked the door. He helped Bond to the chair and stripped the bed which had seen way too much activity to be comfortable. He sat on the carpet and shared the sandwiches and tea and then made up the bed with fresh linen. He helped Bond back to it and decided he was too tired to bother with niceties. He stripped off the clothes he had donned after the shower and slid into the bed. He dug out a tablet he had left in the bedside drawer. It was a commercial one he had modified a bit. He set an alarm for two hours and put his head down with a profound sigh. “So official?” resuming the earlier conversation.

“Yes, unless you don't like the idea. M will throw a fit for form's sake. Tanner will love it because he can drop my flat from the budget. Moneypenny will be ecstatic and will tell everyone it was all her matchmaking. It's brilliant.”

“You're assuming we'll be living at my flat?” Q asked just to be difficult.

“Of course, It's a nicer neighborhood.” Q frowned and Bond grinned unrepentantly. “Spy, remember?”

“How do you feel about cats?” Q asked as a parting shot. He was already feeling sleep encroach. He was lulled by the quiet breathing of the man next to him, the storm as unnoticed outside as the ceaseless tracking of the beacon overhead.


End file.
